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Sharuko On Saturday
I will accord Misheck Chidzambwa, a gentle giant of our game, who was so indomitable they even named him Scania, the full respect he deserves, after we lay him to rest this weekend when the emotions which have been exploding inside me settle down. For today, I will deal with the miracle of the one we got back, with a special name, Christian.
HIS powerful first name, the world’s most beautiful game, his country’s most valuable player and, in that moment, he became the fellow who sent all of us into a prayer.
It was all triggered by his fall, into a slumber, that night in Copenhagen, and there was no need for anyone watching, to guess his identity, which was provided by his jersey’s iconic number.
The number which used to be worn by Pele, considered by some as the greatest of all-time, a three-time winner of the World Cup, who celebrated his 80th birthday, in October last year.
It’s unlikely this game will ever see anyone like him, again, a 17-year-old rookie coming to the World Cup, as he did in Sweden in 1958, to dominate the tournament, scoring five goals, and helping his country lift the trophy.
The number, which is worn by Lionel Messi, this diminutive superstar, regarded by many as the closest thing football has had to a Messiah, a freak of nature, the low centre of gravity and a magical left foot.
The boy from Rosario, born with growth hormone disorder, a rare condition which required a monthly US$900 treatment which his father, a factory worker, and mother, a cleaner, could not afford.
The iconic number, which used to be worn by Diego Maradona, the football superstar who probably provided the biggest individual influence on a World Cup, in the history of this grand tournament.
On Tuesday, the global football family will celebrate the 35th anniversary of that June 29 at the Estadio Azteca in Mexico City, when Maradona helped Argentina beat Germany 3-2, in the ’86 World Cup final.
It was his finest hour and, at the age of 60, his life also came full circle.
As if, it was a golden clock, with every year, which he spent on this earth, seemingly representing a minute, which collectively, represents the finest hour.
Diego is the Number 10 we lost.
Christian Eriksen is the Number 10 we were given bac, by the Lord our God after our collective prayers were answered following his collapse in Copenhagen.
Is it a coincidence, I have been asking myself, that Eriksen spent six days in hospital?
And, that his jersey Number 10 is also the crossroads, where single digits die, and double digits come into life?
In more ways, than one, the numbers and the prayers, in Eriksen’s incredible story, have all appeared like a throwback, to the tale of the soldier boy, in Tex Ritter’s classic song, ”Deck of Cards.”
The one who defended himself, against the possibility of severe punishment from his commanding officer, for using his pack of cards, instead of a bible, during a church service.
Every word, which the soldier boy uttered, appears to apply in Eriksen’s miracle.
“I have been in hospital for six days, I had neither a Bible nor a prayer book but, just before I was discharged, I played my cards, and every card appeared to assume a spiritual meaning,” Eriksen could have explained, borrowing words, from the soldier boy.
“The SIX in my cards didn’t only remind me of the days I was on that hospital bed but it also reminded me that in six days, God made this great heaven and earth.
“The SEVEN reminded me that, on the seventh day, God rested from His great work and, in a way, so did the men and women, who worked day and night, to bring me back to good health.
“When I looked at the Ace, it reminded me that there is but one God and the Deuce told me the Bible is divided into two parts — the Old and the New Testaments.
“The THREE reminded me of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost and the FOUR made me think of the four Evangelists who preached the Gospel — they were Matthew, Mark, Luke and John.
“The FIVE reminded me of the five wise virgins, who trimmed their lamps — there were 10 of them, five were wise and were saved, five were foolish and were shut out.”
When Eriksen scored his first league goal, for Ajax Amsterdam, on August 29, 2010, he was wearing jersey number eight.
“The EIGHT also reminded me of the eight righteous persons God saved when He destroyed this earth — they were Noah, his wife, their sons and their wives,” he would have said.
“When I saw the NINE, I thought of the lepers our Saviour cleansed, and nine out of the 10 didn’t even thank Him while the TEN, my jersey number, reminded me of the Ten Commandments God handed down to Moses, on a table of stone.
“The KING reminded me there is but one King of Heaven, God Almighty, the QUEEN made me think of the Blessed Virgin Mary, the Queen of Heaven and the JACKS or KNAVES, was the Devil.
“When I counted the number of spots, on my deck of cards, I found 365, the number of days in a year, there were 52 cards, the number of weeks in a year, there were four suits, the number of weeks in a month.
“There were 12 picture cards, the number of months in a year, there were 13 tricks, the number of weeks in a quarter and, so you see, in a way, my pack of cards also served me as a prayer Book.”
FORTY ONE, THE NUMBER, THE STRIKING COINCIDENCE
The phrase “His mercy endureth forever” comes up 41 times in the King James Bible and, after Eriksen, somehow, emerged from his ordeal to live another day, many prayers were answered.
Incredibly, the Danish star slumped on to the ground in the 41st minute,of his national team’s opening Euro 2020 match against Finland.
At that moment, nothing else mattered, as if to once again emphasise the importance of life, the game, itself, became insignificant, its result became irrelevant and even the tournament itself became inconsequential.
The life of just one man became all that mattered and, in a way, we all became so connected with him, as if he was family, as if we knew him personally and, as if, he was one of us.
We felt for him, the way we all felt for Marc-Vivien Foe, when he collapsed at the FIFA Confederation Cup in France in 2003, even though he was one of our greatest foes, as an Indomitable Lion, the team which crushed our ’94 World Cup hopes.
In that moment, humanity conquers enmity, the enormity of the loss shatters the boundaries of sporting rivalry, the power of what makes us humans unite us against the dark forces, which divide us, for one reason or another.
And, in a way, we once again rediscover ourselves, the beauty of being part of the human race, the purity of love, overwhelms the darkness of hate and, the imaginary boundaries, which divide us, are shattered by the overwhelming sheer power of our identity as people.
This special breed, which God chose to be different from all the other animals, and as Cameroonians mourned the deal of their legend, it became immediately clear that they were not crying alone.
The whole world was with them, having long taken ownership of Foe, transforming him from just being an Indomitable Lion, into a United Nations kid, the one fate took away from us, at the very prime of his athletic powers.
While we lost Foe, we got Eriksen back, which in itself is a huge relief, possibly a miracle because, as the Danish team doctor told us, the midfield star was “gone” when he went down that night.
He won’t be able to take any further part in his team’s quest for a second title as European champions but that he is alive is more important than the heroism he would have possibly acquired, had he inspired his nation to success.
Ironically, Erikson was born in 1992, the year the Danes wrote their finest hour in football.
That is also considered one of football’s greatest miracles, given no one thought they could do it, after they had initially failed to qualify for Euro ’92.
But, after Yugoslavia were thrown out of the tourney, amid the chaos that followed the country’s break-up and the hostilities which were sparked by this disintegration, the Danes were being summoned from their holidays, at various beaches, as a replacement.
What followed, under the Swedish sunshine, was a Cinderella story, which captured the imagination of the world, as the Danes rocketed to the top of the European football tree.
Maybe, such fairy tales are synonymous with the Danish people.
After all, the country’s most prominent author, Hans Christian Andersen, made his name writing best-selling books about fairy tales, including one about ”The Ugly Duckling.”
He was declared a national treasure by the Danish government, and his work has been translated into more than 125 languages, making him, according to UNESCO, the eighth most translated author in human history.
This literary giant, coincidentally also called Christian, was quite a character, he was afraid of dogs and he always kept a long rope in his luggage, during his travels, because he felt he would need to use it to escape a fire, from his hotel rooms.
Amazingly, before he retired to bed, every night, he would leave a note, which read, ”I only appear to be dead,” because he always had this fear he would accidentally be declared dead, and buried alive.
He was 70, when he died on August 4, 1875, and according to his biographer, Bente Kjoel-bye, he never had any sexual relationship, during his entire life
Nine years before his death, he went to a Paris brother, for the first time, paid a prostitute just to watch her undress.
And, on another occasion, he claims, in his diary, that he ”spoke with (a woman), paid 12 francs, and left without having sinned in action, but probably in thought.”
Tomorrow, the Danes will mark exactly two years since they ushered their youngest prime minister in history, Mette Frederiksen, into office.
On November 19, this year, Frederiksen will turn 41.
ERICKSEN IS A VERY LUCKY BOY, WE CAN’T SAY THE SAME ABOUT OUR LEGENDS
Amid incredible scenes of national, if not global, outpouring of joy, Denmark found a way to reserve their best performance, in the group phase, for their last match, against Russia.
Knowing victory could take them to the Round of 16, which is the least they could do, to provide a fitting tribute to Eriksen, for what he gave to their country, in particular, and the world, in general, the Danes turned on the show.
Their victory over the Russians was as comprehensive as any in this game, but the final scoreline, for those of us who believe there are some bigger forces at play, in our everyday lives, was one that struck us, in a very big way.
Somehow, as fate would have it, Denmark won 4-1, as if this was a tribute to Eriksen, whose collapse, in the 41st minute of their first game, against Finland, changed their Euro 2021 campaign, forever.
Eriksen led his country to the tournament, scoring the most goals for them, five, in the qualifiers, and he was tipped to be one of the stars of Euro 2021.
And, so was Robert Lewandowski, the Polish gunslinger who arrived at this tournament, having won the European Golden Shoe, after another very successful campaign, at Bayern Munich.
The great Pole took that award, after scoring 41 goals, during the season.
Of course, we know that Lewandowski will not be one of the stars of Euro 2021, after his campaign ended in the group stages, with Poland being eliminated, at the first hurdle.
But, that doesn’t matter, too, especially when, somehow, we got Eriksen back, just when we all feared that another great footballer had met his untimely death, on a football field.
Eriksen’s story has been cheering us up, especially the domestic football family, which has had to deal with a number of its heroes dying, one after the other, in recent weeks.
A dark cloud has been hanging over our game with two other icons, Mick Poole, and Misheck Chidzambwa, dying in the space of just a few days, this week.
I will accord Misheck, a gentle giant of our game, who was so indomitable they even named him Scania, the full respect he deserves after we lay him to rest this weekend,
The emotions have been exploding because he is someone I ended up knowing very well, on a personal level, and got to appreciate him, for the good human being that he was.
I don’t think you can come across anyone who will tell you anything bad about Misheck, the man we called Lakaju, because inside his giant frame was this amazing gentle soul.
He was a great footballer, something which ran in the family, and with his brother Sunday, they transformed themselves into icons of our game, leaders of men and coaches of repute.
Leadership came naturally to them and Misheck was the defensive rock on which Poole built his Warriors, en-route to winning the country’s first major silverware, the CECAFA Senior Challenge Cup, at Rufaro, in 1985.
He was Poole’s trusted lieutenant, his inspirational captain, the man who marshalled his troops from the back, his soft voice a mockery of the powerful gospel which he preached, whenever he was giving orders to his men in their service to their country.
You had to be special, very special, to be handed the assignment to lead that group of Warriors, who had leaders, in every position, men who came from their clubs, as captains, and now had to take orders from Scania, on that pitch.
That he earned their respect is testimony of the great qualities which Misheck possessed, which you got to know and appreciate, the more that you spent time with him.
His battles with Shacky Tauro where neither gave an inch, in their service for their clubs, Dynamo and CAPS United, provided the Harare Derby with some of its greatest duels, a fierce confrontation which, on its own, was worth the price of the match ticket.
It’s sad, both have since left our garden of the living.
Later in life, Misheck transformed himself into a very good coach, his success, including guiding his country to their first COSAFA Cup title, back when this tournament attracted top players for its duels, is there for history to record.
I will gather time for Misheck, without a doubt, after I have composed myself, in what is quite a personal loss.
It’s been a very bad year for our legends, 41 years into our Independence, the freedom which opened a window for them to take their talents to the international stage.
To God Be The Glory!
Peace to the GEPA Chief, the Big Fish, George Norton, Daily Service, Sitting Bull, Crazy Horse and all the Chakariboys in the struggle.
Come on Warriors!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Khamaldinhoooooooooooooooooo!
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